Cooper had been warned just in time. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw an enormous set of teeth flashing towards him. He jerked his head back instinctively. What had happened to the animal in the past that it would lunge at a complete stranger the moment his attention was distracted?

Ah, well. That wasn’t what he was here for. He made his way to the cattery, which was at the back of the sanctuary: a couple of low buildings with concrete walkways.

When he got there, Cooper hesitated. So how, exactly, did you go about choosing a cat? How on earth did you make a judgement when you were faced with rows and rows of felines in mesh cages? All of them were animals who’d been abandoned or mistreated in some way. All of them deserving of a good home.

It wasn’t like buying a car, when you could look at the mileage, check under the bonnet, sit in the driving seat and try out the controls. He hadn’t even thought about what colour of cat he’d like, which was the first question that Claire had asked him when he told her. Did it matter whether it was a tabby, a tortoiseshell or a ginger tom? It was the personality that mattered, the question of whether you were compatible. And you wouldn’t discover that with a cat until you’d worked on the relationship for a while.

So standing here in the animal rescue centre, being asked to make a choice, seemed suddenly too daunting. It was an impossible challenge, surely?

But, in the end, it proved to be very simple. The question was resolved for Cooper beyond doubt by the time he got halfway down the first row of cages. There, he found a small, furry bundle clinging to the mesh, two bright green eyes fixed determinedly on his, and a tiny paw reaching desperately for his sleeve until claws hooked in and drew him closer. He barely noticed the colour of the fur in the intensity of the moment of communication. A pink mouth opened in an almost silent cry as the young cat spoke to him.

And somehow, Cooper knew exactly what he was being told. He didn’t have to choose a cat, after all. His cat had chosen him.

DOROTHY SHELLEY WAS waiting for him when he arrived home in Welbeck Street. Cooper never really understood how his landlady knew everything that was going on. But he certainly wasn’t going to be able to keep a new cat secret from her. He could see her grey-haired figure in a faded blue cardigan, hovering by the window of number 6 as he pulled his Toyota towards the kerb.

‘She’s lovely,’ said Mrs Shelley, peering into the pet carrier before Cooper even got to the door of his flat. ‘She is a “she”, isn’t she?’

‘Yes, this time,’ said Cooper, with a laugh. He remembered that his landlady had not been too expert at assessing the gender of a cat in the past.